


Christmas

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [34]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 18:58:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14796129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Caeide tended to think of Christmas in terms of Before and After Andrew.  Before, she did her respectful duty to her neighbors as she'd been taught by Agnera and Kathleen - the traditional food baskets to the local inhabitants, the traditional Clan good wishes.  After, well . . .





	Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> A Spoiler here and there, possibly.

The first year Maude and Marisol had joined her but a week before Christmas, and other than them watching in some amazement as she prepared the last of the many food baskets she would deliver to the various cottages in the area, and her driving them to the service at the tiny kirk the night of the 24th and actually staying with them, if rather uncomfortably, as they knew no one else there, there was little in the way of celebration at Haven. Oh, she had set aside some special treats in two small baskets for each of them and they had requested she play on the guitar and they sang some of the songs they associated with the holiday, but frankly, they were both exhausted and desired little more than that. As for gifts, the three of them shared memories of their days together and their absent lad over a glass of bourbon, they gave her their presence, she gave them warmth and shelter, and that was more than enough. They didn't even think of anything more.

The next year, Peter was home with them again, and on the mend, but not at full strength and still of uncertain temperment. He'd sat and drank hot tea and watched as she and Maude and Marisol had prepared the usual baskets, only remarking on the number and the variety of the contents - something from the smokehouse along with a jar of something from the summer garden, preserves and something from the oven, perhaps cheese or butter for those who she knew wouldn't have their own, sometimes bundles of dried herbs. He shared a laugh with the two women over Caeide's notorious lists she kept consulting, ones she'd worked on months earlier - who got baskets, who would best appreciate what - but her explaining in equally good humor that those lists let her plan so she had grown and harvested enough, made sure she'd smoked enough meat, preserved enough from the orchards and the dairy, baked enough for everyone so no one would be slighted. She pointed to the symbols that noted this person had the 'sugar sickness', these had trouble with their teeth, this one having a pure craving for the sharpest and strongest flavors, not being able to much taste anything milder, this one not able to have a garden anymore and relishing anything that came from hers, and they wondered at the sheer store of knowledge she had about those around her. Each basket had a name tied to its handle, and each was filled with a great deal of care.

He'd not joined the two older women at the kirk; he'd sat and smoked til Caeide had returned alone, and they had shared hot chocolate strengthened with a bit of spirits, and sweet biscuits; she'd sung some of her old songs to him, told him a story or two til it was time for her to go to collect Maude and Marisol. He'd been tucked away in bed by the time they returned, and she could tell by his breathing he was not sleeping but remembering things he'd rather not remember; she made sure to distract him enough that he soon had other things on his mind, and he fell asleep in her arms, sleeping peacefully through til the morning light. 

Christmas Day had come, and had been celebrated quietly in the office next to the bedroom he was spending his nights in. Caeide had watched, smiling, at their simple enjoyment. She had gotten out red and green plaid material from one of the trunks in the attic and draped the tables, and with the cut glass and candles and such, it gave at least an impression of what she thought they might like, and seemingly they were happy with it. The dinner was a simple but hearty one, followed by a luscious plum tart and hot mulled wine, and the presence of their long away lad made it seem rich indeed. She had invited Reverend Miles to join them, and he did so, and that was good, as he was always careful with Peter, seeming to know when things were getting difficult for the younger man and taking pains to ease him. It was not her holiday, but it gave her pleasure to see them together, enjoying the special treats, the simple gifts they had arranged for each other. She gave each their own miniature basket and presented them with the same greeting she gave the villagers.

Ian had flown in to deliver what she and the others had requested, and a turn of bad weather had encouraged him to stay, or maybe it was the promise of that plum tart and mulled wine, so it was a pleasant time, him also providing a welcome distraction for Peter, though this time for his jokes and funny stories and him relating the doings of Meghada and Goniff and the others at the Cottages. His story of Meghada and her time with the socialites and that hat with the grasshopper had them all laughing with relish.

"And Kevin actually gave her one like it for her birthday, there in the Common Room in front of all the guys. Her face when she opened that box to see that ridiculous little hat with the purple netting and that bright green grasshoper perched on that yellow straw bird's nest, complete with three eggs, mind you, oh, it was something else, I'll tell you that!! Especially when he suggested it would be perfect with that elegant bronze evening gown of hers!" 

The next year, well, Andrew had joined them, and that was a different story. His joy, his enthusiasm, his curiosity, well, it overwhelmed them all. She'd explained in answer to his query that, No, this wasn't a Clan holiday, of course, but the Clan had always tried to do its duty to the villagers and the surrounding area through the years, and that included respecting their ways as much as was comfortable for both. So there were baskets, all done up in red and green, for those who lived in the area, however close or remote, all to be delivered by horse and cart in the days approaching the holiday, except for the few so high in the cliffs that only horses could go, and those baskets were left to the last, carried on panniers by the stolid and reliable Angus. 

Well, Andrew had to be part of all of that, of course, and Peter went along to see Andrew's joy, (and if truth be known, to be sure he and Caeide came to no harm, Peter never being an overly trusting soul, life and experience supporting his natural inclination), with Caeide riding alongside acting as their guide as the homesteads and cottages were widely-spread and some quite remote. She not only didn't want to risk them getting lost, there were many still wary and unwelcoming of Peter, and many who'd never even met Andrew, and some few who hadn't seen a stranger in many a year and weren't likely to be too friendly to such. She thought there were few if any willing to threaten physical harm to them while at Haven, still they would be far and away from Haven, on other lands for much of these journeys. While she didn't THINK there were any who might take this opportunity to harm them, still, she wasn't going to risk them by being careless.

Still, she did not want to put up unnecessary walls between Haven's people and the outside, so she took a calculated risk. She never told the two of them about the revolver at the small of her back, or the knife in the seam of her riding skirt, or the throwing blade in the sheath at her right forearm, though the Cossack whip coiled at her saddle horn was plainly visible. Her cousin Cally had taught her to use it, and it was a mighty weapon in its own right, though many would not automatically see it as such til it was put into use. She knew Peter would have his knife, and she'd seen him tuck a revolver under his jacket, though at least this time he was using the holster, not just tucking it into his trousers; seems he'd learned a FEW things from that loft incident! Well, that was only right; she'd learned a few things, herself!

Maude and Marisol had both declined an invitation to join them after the first and closest trip, deciding the discomfort of being in the cold air on a bouncing wagon, no matter how warmly dressed, did not quite balance out even the pleasure of watching Andrew handing out the baskets. 

For the first time, the baskets were accompanied by a bubbling "Merry Christmas!!", coming from Andrew, a hesitant smile and nod from Peter, along with the traditional Clan half-bow from Haven's mistress delivered with the usual solemn, "Greetings to you from Haven, and may this make the celebration of your holiday brighter".

If the recipients were taken aback at her companions, most had the good sense to not show it too clearly, and while Peter was aware of the reserve, she rather thought Andrew just breezed right past it, caught up in his own joy in the experience. After one such experience, when the hunched elderly owner of the cottage peered at them with his head half turned away, pursed his lips and gave only a curt "aye", took the basket and disappeared back inside the tiny abode, Peter glanced at her with a cynically wry look, and she gave him just a tiny reassuring smile and a fast wink.

"Jenkins likely hasn't seen another person for the past year, other than Reverend Miles; even his supplies are left at the foot of the trail. He's not much accustomed to conversation, and I'm never totally sure he remembers who I am, or Haven either. He was no different with Maeve or Agnera or Kathleen that I recall," and left it at that. 

The icy reception at the Connyr cottage, now that was a different story, and while Clyn Connyr smiled and was pleasant, almost ingratiating to her, greeting her as they arrived, he cast openly cold and antagonistic looks at the two men on the wagon. She reached down and took the basket Peter was handing up to her, though leaving it balanced on her saddle horn and not handing it down directly as she'd done at other stops.

She looked down at that sneer on the cottager's face, and sat back in her saddle, amended her usual greeting slightly, with more than a bit of firmness in her voice, "WE, those of the family of Haven bring you this; may it make the celebration of your holiday brighter, should, of course, you choose to accept it in the spirit in which it is offered." The arch of her brow, the tone of her voice left no doubt in Peter's mind, or in Connyr's, that that basket could just as easily end up back in the wagon as in the cottager's hands, and any goodwill he might have had from Haven right along with it.

Connyr started, eyes wide at that chill in her voice, and met her stern gaze. Her brows were raised, her face patiently waiting for a response, and there was more than a bit of ice in her eyes, and he nodded in reluctant understanding, and his looks at the men became more acceptable to her, his animosity at least not so open, and his words polite if not warm as he gave them, not just her, thanks for the gift.

Peter glanced over at her after they'd left, "that was nicely done, Brat. Been practicing at being subtle, 'ave we now?" And the wry grin he got told him she'd been doing exactly that, them both knowing that was not an ingrained Clan trait. And they were both amused when Andrew looked from one to the other, and asked "what was nicely done?"

Some of those they visited were cheerful and truly welcoming, such as at the Tanner and Rhys cottages, where they were offered a warm drink and fresh biscuits, and some few others; others were civil enough. There was one small cottage Caeide asked them to halt the cart a goodly distance away; she took one of the baskets and rode to the dooryard, dismounted, knocked and stepped inside when the door opened just enough to give her room. She was back shortly, and as they made their way now toward home, Peter asked, keeping his eyes firmly on the horse in front of him, "someone who'd 'ave even less use for Andrew and me than that Connyr fellow?"

And she reached down and over to brush his hair lightly with her fingers, sensing the bruising in his voice; when he looked up at her, she said, with just a solemn look and a sigh, "someone who'd be terrified of you and Andrew, Peter. Of any man, even Reverend Miles. And with goodly enough cause. I saw no reason to give her alarm or discomfort." And though Andrew started to ask questions, an elbow in his ribs from Peter made him think twice. 

When they returned home and got the horses settled and the cart put away, and made their way back inside, it became evident the ladies had not spent their time in idleness. Inside, there had never been any of the more elaborate trappings, and this year Maude and Marisol had thought to amuse themselves with doing up their sitting room, making such oddments as they desired, thinking to invite the others in around the fire of an evening for perhaps music and treats and a drink during the season. Once he saw what they were doing, Andrew suggested opening up the wall between their sitting room and his for the occasion, and adding a tree, and decorations, and eggnog, and wassail and stockings and . . . She laughed and allowed him to do as he liked, the others helping, her providing what he asked for as best she could.

"Does it bother you, 'aving all this around, doing all this? I know you don't . . ." Peter asked her quietly while Andrew was holding forth on the merits of various types of decorations, and games and stories, and so on.

"No, no more than it bothered me to help you set up a bonfire on November 5th to celebrate Guy Faulkes Day, though I'll admit I am more comfortable with all this being kept to the private rooms upstairs, and so far he has not asked for more than that. Hopefully no more than it bothered you to join in my Winter Solstice celebration. You have your important days, the Clan has theirs; we do not ask that you abandon those when you become part of our family. And before you ask, no, it doesn't bother me to play or sing the Christmas songs for all of you, though I'm having to learn many of them for the first time and re-learn others."

"Imagine, Peter, SOME of those they are requesting, that I'm learning, were ones I THOUGHT I already knew, but never considered would be openly sung in polite company. Who'd have thought someone would have taught me the wrong words to them, all those years ago," looking at him with one brow raised high.

Peter gave a little chuckle, "well, it only seemed fair, you not telling me the words to all those songs YOU were singing!"

"You can explain that to the others; they were rather appalled at my rendition of 'The Twelve Days of Christmas', you know!" and Peter spat his drink down the front of his shirt, remembering just what words he'd taught her went with that music.

"Imagine my surprise at what all those ladies and maids and pipers and lords and such were ACTUALLY doing in the song!! Brings a totally different picture to mind, you know." She chuckled and blotted him off with her handkerchief.

"Music is music, love, and I play songs from many cultures; that does not indicate an identify or belief, and it is no offence to the Great Mother for me to do so. We'll do the same for Andrew for his special holidays, and his Thanksgiving should meld quite nicely with our Harvest-End celebration, though I'll admit his wanting to celebrate on July 4th, his Independence Day might be a little awkward," with a grin at Peter.

He snorted in pretend irritation, "if you can go along with Christmas, I can go along with that, I suppose. Upstart colonists! Don't know 'ow the sheep are going to like the fireworks, though! They were none too pleased with the ones we tried on the 5th!" His mood shifted, and she took note of the seriousness in his voice, in his face now. "Caeide, you were with us that Christmas at the pub; you know what Andrew's doing, it's not what we're used to either. Some years, it was bypassed with nothing done; some years, a bit of a dinner and drink, that was all we'd do. And, there were years when they'd be doing more, but I'd be in one of my snits, and would just stay away so as not to ruin it for them. But Andrew, it seems this means a lot to 'im, and Maude and Marisol seem to be enjoying the fuss."

He gave just a bit of a rueful smile, "even in the camp, 'e tried to make something special of it. Well, a lot of them did, and I did my sorry best to go along with it, leastwise when I wasn't tucked up in the cooler. Some years, I did better than others, I'll admit; once, even thought about getting myself tossed in there just to avoid it all, but couldn't quite let myself go that far; Louie and Andrew would've just fretted about me and that would've ruined it for them as much as my temper. Not a bundle of cheer a lot of times; well, you know me well enough to guess that." 

She frowned just a little, reaching up one hand to cup his cheek gently, "Peter, if you are not comfortable with all he is planning, I can ask him to scale it back. Andrew is used to having his grand plans and wild schemes eased into more reasonable proportions, you know that; many a time, you're the one pulling on the reins." She stopped and smirked at him, remembering Andrew's Dance, "well, usually anyway," and he laughed, knowing quite well what had gone through her mind. "All it would take is me telling him that I'm not quite comfortable with what he is intending, and asking him to ease off some."

Peter tilted his head and arched one brow, "you'd tell 'im YOU'RE not easy with it, not me? Placing it on your shoulders, not mine? And why would you do that, Brat?"

"Love, if it makes you uncomfortable, then I am NOT easy with it. It's simply the way it is, you know. You put Andrew before yourself and me and all others; I put YOU before myself and Andrew and all others; and Andrew, ah, Peter, you are the star in his heavens - he'd never do anything to hurt you, not intentionally," and her eyes held the truth of that, not that he didn't already know that, deep down, all of it.

He knew that; didn't mean he understood it, but he knew it was the truth and had pretty much stopped fighting it. How he'd gone from being 'that useless pile of shite' his father and others had once called him, to being someone's 'star in his heavens', or someone she'd 'put above all others', he didn't know and would never understand. He'd fought a lot of that for years, thinking himself unworthy, remembered when two of the Brangle Street lads had come to the camp, how they'd told the others ever so casually that 'she thought the world of 'im, she did,' and 'no one else could measure up to 'im in 'er eyes, not the Lord Mayor of London nor anyone else.'

He shook his head again in rueful amusement, then motioned with his chin toward Andrew, busy chattering away to the two women about sugar cookie ornaments and peppermint sticks and silver paper stars, "look at 'im, Caeide-luv. With all 'is enthusiasm, maybe some of that will spill over on me. Who knows? Let it go this year; we'll see 'ow I get through it. I can always step outside for a smoke if it gets a bit much, and you or Maude or Mari can always clip me one upside the 'ead if I get too tetchy." 

He paused, "what about your own 'olidays, do we join in those with you? Come to think of it, except for your Day of Remembrance and the Winter Solstice we just passed through, don't know I've 'eard you speak of any." She looked at him, tilted her head, considering, and he knew she was thinking of just what to tell him.

Then, a firm nod, "there are several, though many are more ritual than what you would call celebration. We give honor to the Great Mother several times a year, at First Planting, as the seasons change, at the solstices, at Year's End, plus the Day of Remembrance. We celebrate birthdays, as you know, since we've done that together when the times came. Otherwise I have done that which is to be done at the proper times, though have not made mention of it to you or the others; some of the rituals are perhaps not what those not raised in the Clan might understand so easily, one or two might be rather off-putting."

She thought in particular of the ritual accompanying the first planting of the year, where she spilled her own blood onto each field to petition for a good harvest. She'd often thought with as many sections as they had in cultivation here, including the orchards and pastures, it was good that only a few drops were required at each place!

"If you wish, as each approach, I could explain what is involved, and each of you could decide if you wish to watch or be involved in some way," she offered in some hesitation. "You and they might not be comfortable with some, and if so, I understand. While the Great Mother is not a jealous one, I've heard it said your god is, very much so."

He nodded firmly, "I think that would be good, Caeide, telling us, letting us decide. It don't seem right, us being out in the open with our celebrations, and you 'elping us, but us not doing the same for you."

And she was pleased with that, for if the time came when there were others of the Clan here at the proper times, it would be best of Peter and Andrew and Maude and Marisol were at least aware of the special days and what was involved. And the fleeting thought came to her, {"and if there are children, they will be brought up as Clan, and it would be good to start getting the others more accustomed to those ways,"} and she resolved to add in some of the customs and such into the story-telling that took place round the fire. They knew about the Internship, of course, and the Practicums, at least some about them, but there was so much more. She might start telling of her own growing up, her own education. And while she maintained no real hope of children, thinking the toll of the camp, the hardships and suffering, the scars that Peter carried from those Ravens and possibly others, could easily have put paid to that possibility, still there was a wistful look in her eye at the idea. And the thought of that dream, well it came back to her, the faces of those children, and it seems there was a spark of hope, just a spark, after all.

Andrew saw them talking, saw the so serious looks.

"Maudie, is there something wrong? Does Caeide not want a tree and all the rest?" He looked worried and a little apprehensive; well, he knew he tended to get carried away with things, and it had just occurred to him that this was her home, but it wasn't her holiday.

Maudie smiled at him reassuringly, "I don't think it's that so much, Andrew; not in 'er own regard, anyway. But, all you're talking about, it's new for us too, you see. Little of this was done back at the pub, or when Peter was growing up, and to be truthful, Christmas was often not a 'appy time for us, 'im or us."

Andrew frowned, "I know at the camp it took a lot to get him involved, and sometimes it seemed he couldn't stand being around when we were talking and remembering Christmas back home. He never told his own stories, though he never said why."

"Well, 'e'd have 'ad little enough to tell, of any good anyway; there's some memories better off leaving alone, you know. 'Is father got even more bloody minded than usual around Christmas time, and, well. . . Most likely 'e didn't want to lower what pleasure you were taking in the telling and the listening, Andrew. But, yes, it would most likely 'ave been 'ard for 'im, and that wouldn't 'ave 'elped 'is temper at all. And Caeide, well, she'd be canny about that, and is perhaps making sure we are not doing so much as to make 'im uneasy. She'd not want that, you know."

Andrew's eyes got bigger, "well, gee, I don't want that either! I just want to make it a GOOD Christmas for him, for everyone!"

"Well, you don't worry too much about it, lad. If she thinks we're going too far, she'll find a way to let us know. I did notice that she was relieved that we were keeping all the decorations and such up 'ere, not asking to take in the downstairs, so I'd not change that."

And he nodded, but still the thought stayed with him, that in trying to make this a really good Christmas for Peter, he might be making him uncomfortable. Now he wondered about the gifts he'd asked Ian to help him arrange, and decided he'd talk to her when they were alone. 

"Uh, Caeide, can I ask you something? Well, maybe a lot of somethings?"

She raised her eyebrows at the young man peering at her from the doorway, "of course, Andrew," but with some apprehension. With Andrew, you never quite knew what was coming, and some of his questions had led to some very unusual conversations. Often those conversations had led to her pouring herself a sizeable tot of bourbon afterwards, her own version of Peter's "Bloody 'ell, Andrew!!". {"Well, no harm; we've just gotten in the liquor shipment so I'm prepared. AND, I increased our standing order, just in case. Though for the sake of my liver I might need to adopt that 'Bloody 'ell, Andrew!' every now and again!"}

So she sat and listened as he listed out his questions, his concerns, and she smiled fondly, once again so glad he had chosen to join them here. Highly enthusiastic, he might be, and tending to step off the side of cliffs without looking first, but a lad with a kind heart, and a deep caring for Peter and the rest of them.

"Remember what Peter told you in camp, about giving the flowers? 'Simple and sincere?' Well, if you keep that in mind, I think you'll not go wrong."

"Well, what about you, Caeide? I know it's not your holiday, but do you give presents? Is it okay for you to GET presents?" and she could see by the flush on his face that he'd wished he'd thought to ask these questions a while ago, knowing now there'd be a present for her from the young man under his soon-to-be-chosen tree. 

"A gift given in simple good wishes is not taken amiss, Andrew, and the gifts I give, well, they are similar in type to what I give the villagers, smaller though, nothing elaborate, with perhaps a special token tucked inside with the treats. And I give them with the same greeting as you've heard me give when I deliver those baskets. I'm not of your faith, but simple gifts between friends, between family, those are not forbidden on any day. In fact, I usually do some of that throughout the year, as I come across something I think someone would particularly relish, though the Winter Solstice is our traditional time for gift-giving. For the most part, though, I try to, well, give in a broader way." He turned his face to hers, wrinkles of puzzlement showing his confusion.

She laughed gently, "I try to keep sweets in those tins in the pie case, knowing you and he have such a liking for them. I make sure I've that special comfrey creme always close by, for massaging his joints to keep them from stiffening, his skin from cracking like its wont to do. Maudie and I make sure his special tea is always mixed, ready to be steeped. I have one of my cousins keep a discreet eye on his sister, to be sure she's not in want, when she might hesitate to ask him for help. I put that pot of coffee on first thing in the morning when I'm getting ready to tend the big stock, even though the others prefer tea, so that you can have your morning cup as soon as you step foot in the kitchen, and keep Scotch in stock for you both, and whisky for Maude and Mari, though I drink bourbon. I switched to riding Angus instead of Angie, leaving the two of you sweethearts to croon to each other. The monthly run brings lemon drops and chocolate cremes for Marisol, and horehound drops and licorice twists for Maude, and English tea cookies for him, and those moon pies I have to order special from the States for you along with those Joe Froggers; even found someone who is going to send me a recipe for those very oddly named cookies so we can make them for you here. I play at secretary to you and Peter to lessen your worry over the mail. I keep that tin of those malt sugar squares well filled, so you can tuck some in your pocket whenever you're visiting Angie. Reverend Miles gets looked in on to be sure he is coming along well, and he's invited to tea and dinner regularly. The Vincent Booth gets its contributions, and I keep an eye on the Elderhouse and the Orphanage to be sure they get not only their needs met, but some special treats and attentions as well. When Maude or Mari seem to be needing more company or find the solitude here closing in a bit, I make sure there's a reason for them to be making a trip to the village, or down to Cardith, or to one of the more nearby places, as well as perhaps invite one or two of those from the village that they particularly enjoy to come for a special tea. We are taught it is in the day-to-day giving we can best show our affection." She shrugged, "it is our way; each culture has its own way."

He nodded in understanding, "yeah, I think I understand. I like that. But it's okay if we do the tree and the rest, Peter is okay with that?" 

She hesitated just a tiny bit, "he wants you to have a good Christmas, Andrew; he seems to be of the opinion that we should try it this year as you like it; if we find him disappearing to take a smoke more often than usual, if he seems greatly uncomfortable, then perhaps next year we might see some small changes to try and find a better balance. But for now, just try to show some restraint, try not to be forcing him to take enjoyment in something more than comes readily to him, and I think it will be fine. Yes, pushing him a bit, sometimes that is needful and to his own benefit, but not so far as to make him truly unhappy. Let him step away some if he needs to. And we'll all try to help distract him if the bad memories start to get the better of him."

And that grin that they all loved so much came to his slightly narrow face, and his eyes shone, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, restraint! Restraint and distraction! I can do that!" And if she had some doubts, the words 'restraint' and 'Andrew' not going together so easily in her mind, ('boundless enthusiasm' was more like it), well, the distraction she knew he was quite capable of; she knew he'd give it a good try, and for Andrew, Peter would put out a great deal of effort as well. 

And she thought about those small baskets she had set aside, the baskets she'd woven herself from lavender stems or heather, intermixed with golden straw, ready to be filled with a few special treats, and the tokens: a packet each of the long and the curved needles Maude liked to use for her quilting and which were not so easy to find, along with some finely hued embroidery floss; a tiny bottle of the special lavender scent Marisol favored, and a dainty pulled-thread handkerchief; and for Peter and Andrew, each would find a replica of Duggan, similar to the one of Angie she'd sent to Andrew in the camp. She knew Peter would laugh, but she suspected he'd like it anyway.

And she remembered a long spool of wide pretty lace that Andrew just might find a use for with that tree of his, along with snippets and twists of red and green ribbon and fabric left from the baskets. And when he found it all in a fabric basket on his bedside table with the note, "thought you might like this, perhaps as garland or bows or something?" he knew she was truly alright with his holiday efforts. He thought over his gifts, and decided they did indeed meet that criteria Peter had given him in camp, 'simple and sincere'; he thought over all the things he'd suggested for the holidays, and decided to skip the stockings this year, and maybe go with either the wassail OR the eggnog, not both. And maybe he'd not insist on a rousing game of Pin the Tail on the Reindeer, or Who's Got The Peppermint Stick, or Puss in the Corner, but maybe be content with some Christmas carols.

He frowned in puzzlement again over that "The Twelve Days of Christmas" they'd heard Caeide singing lightly to herself; surely he'd been hearing her wrong! Though maybe some of those words were just the East End version of the words he'd learned as a child. Still, from the look on Maude and Marisol's face, he kinda doubted it. He made a point to ask Peter about it later. Maybe next year, when Peter got more used to the idea of Christmas in general, he could get more expansive. Yeah, that would be his plan. After all, just being in a safe, warm place, with Peter and Caeide and Maude and Marisol, even if they did nothing else but have dinner together, that would be a good Christmas, he realized with a satisfied smile. And while the others wondered a bit at that look on his face, the one of total contentment, they were pleased too, for they truly wanted this to be a good Christmas for their beloved Andrew.

And they were as good as their word. They kept an eye on Peter, and when they'd see his jaw start to tense, or his breath start to get ragged, or he'd get that look in his eye or that higher note in his voice that said his patience was starting to wear a little too thin, one of them would distract him. He'd find himself in the office, pulling out last year's supply lists and inventories for Maude, who said she needed to see just what had been ordered in the way of canning supplies as she was thinking about adding on to the kitchen garden, and yes, he needed to do it right now while she was browsing through preserving recipes; somehow those particular items had been misfiled and it took him some time to locate (enough that Andrew had finished with his impromptu round of "Angels We Have Heard" and a host of others), and he'd returned muttering about those who thought supply lists should be filed under "N", and inventories under "H" and Maude had innocently offered the suggestion that maybe it was because it was what was 'Needed', and what they already "Had", and he just looked at her as if she'd lost her mind and asked whether she'd been sampling the whiskey a bit early. Still, that plate of scones and pot of hot tea she'd delivered to him to make his search easier had been pleasant, he'd had to admit, and the break from the merriment had done wonders for his disposition. 

Marisol found herself needing him to finish hemming the new skirt she'd made for Caeide, and that had to be done off in a separate room far away from the others as she didn't want the surprise spoiled; though he'd grumbled at her poor planning in not having it completed already, and her being lucky his hands were behaving themselves today, he managed to stretch that job into a good three hours, especially with that portion of whiskey she'd handed him along with that plate of sweet biscuits; in fact, Mari had found him dozing on the settee when she came in to check, the finished skirt folded all neatly across the back of the chair, the fire still giving off a nice heat, and just gave him a warm smile and pulled a quilt snuggly over him, and left him to it for another hour or so. 

Once, the loud "BLOODY 'ELL, ANDREW!!!" coming from the library, along with the "NO! I don't bloody well know what that's to be used for, and we ain't gonna give it a try to find out neither!!" told a wildly laughing Caeide that Andrew had made another foray into the Trinket Cabinet, and yes, he'd been successful in distracting Peter from the carol singing by Maude and Marisol. Well, no one distracted Peter quite like Andrew!

Though Caeide made a goodly effort when she pulled him away from the tree trimming up into that small storeroom where the bushel bags of carded wool were kept ready to be spun into thread and yarn, supposedly to look for red yarn with which to make tassels. Amazingly soft those big pillow-sized bags of wool were, the unevenness of the heaps causing them to slide into each other most agreeably, and the room dim with just the lantern light, and nicely warm from the fireplace below, and that stack of woolen throws in the corner available to be pulled on top added to the coziness. By the time they rejoined the others, the tree was finished and he'd decided to make sure that was one holiday tradition they made sure to continue, and when he whispered that in her ear as they stepped back into the room with the others, she grinned up at him and wiggled her brows and told him, "already on my list, Peter, I can assure you of that!" She didn't intend to remind him that the wool yarns were kept in that rather cold back room with the finished materials either; that search for what just wasn't there had been far too pleasant! He was so mellow, in fact, that when asked by Andrew what his favorite part of the preparations had been, he quickly responded, "think the tree-trimming, Andrew. Yes, no doubt about it, it was the tree-trimming," leaving Andrew nicely puzzled, as he hadn't remembered Peter being there for more than the first five minutes or so. Then, when he remembered that Caeide had disappeared about the same time, he got a delighted grin on his face, thinking {"that probably WAS his favorite part!"} and he didn't say anything, but giggled all the way through his hot chocolate.

And as for Caeide, Christmas was not her holiday, but tradition had called for restocking the homestead each Solstice and Equinox, each having their own emphasis, with the Winter Solstice focusing on books and music and linens and household goods, and the new shipment of books for the library had arrived with Ian, just that afternoon, him mock complaining about the sheer number this time, and was she trying to crash his plane from the weight. She'd already decided which to leave on each bedside table for a first sampling, and if she had chosen many of this shipment with someone special in mind, well, why wouldn't she? All would be solid additions to the library anyway, and she was only following the tradition of widening the scope of the knowledge in there for the pleasure of those who dwelt here, now and into the future. That each person here would find particular pleasure in one or two or more of the offerings, well, that was just an extra fillip, so to speak.

So Maude would find a rather rare book on traditional herbcraft, meant specially for a climate of this sort so that the section on growing of the herbs was appropriate, and the rest taking in the preparing of the herbs as well as the uses, along with a book of antique yarncraft patterns, and a trio of Alcott's books - 'Eight Cousins', 'Rose in Bloom, and 'An Old Fashioned Girl', her taking pleasure in those tales of simpler and less troublesome times.

Marisol would find a new novel by Eudora Welty, an author Caeide had noticed her enjoying before though Caeide failed to see the appeal, coupled with a book on the home preparation of perfumes and cremes and cosmetics, along with two by Gene Stratton Porter - 'A Girl of the Limberlost' and 'Freckles'. She rather thought Maude would enjoy those later as well.

Peter would discover a copy of 'Harvey' by Mary Chase, recommended by Meghada and Goniff and Craig; somehow a story about a six and a half foot invisible rabbit who offers companionship to a kind but eccentric man seemed like something he might enjoy. (She had no way of knowing his thoughts from that time so many years ago, when he'd doubted the presence of the big red dog who'd come out of nowhere to protect and comfort him, nor his thoughts that 'might as well imagine big white rabbits come to sit on the end of my bed and listen to my troubles!", though she would have chuckled if she had known. And he would chuckle more than once as he read the book, his thoughts going back there as well.)

He would also see right below that a book of English songs; appropriate since that year in London he'd complained all she sang were bloody Irish and bloody Scottish songs, not good English songs. Of course, she'd retorted that was probably because she wasn't bloody English! Still, she'd learn some from the book, if there were any he'd a mind to hear, since she'd made sure it included the notes as well as the words; yes, for him, she'd even learn and play and sing bloody English songs! Seems her love for him truly held no bounds! 

For Andrew, now there had been the challenge, since their Andrew seemed to be interested in everything! The challenge had been to find things he'd particularly enjoy but hopefully wouldn't tempt him into ways they'd perhaps prefer he not go. So she had, with some regret, passed over that book on the history and construction of pyrotechnics, thinking of not just the human inhabitants of Haven and the surrounding countryside and village, but also of the livestock. After all, they depended on the milk and egg production!

There was a rather tempting compilation of Victorian erotica that she knew would have him enthralled, but she wasn't sure Peter's nervous system could handle the strain (Peter had not quite recovered from that last bit of Victorian fantasy Andrew had come up with! She could still hear the numerous "Bloody 'ell, Andrew!'s" that had peppered the air during that delightful afternoon. She still remembered his muttered "never knew being a bloody vegetable merchant could wear you out so!" as he drifted off to sleep that night. She could understand that; her role as Lady Constance had been rather demanding as well, and Andrew, as the stern butler had had little mercy on either of them!). So she bypassed that volume as well, {"at least for now. Maybe in a future shipment, once Peter becomes a little more accustomed to Andrew's eager embrace of such things!"}

She had ended up with getting permission from the Grandmother to have several volumes of Clan legends and stories sent here; Peter had said Andrew had been thrilled with the stories Coura and Douglas had sent to him at the camp. There had been none in the Library here, as most were so well known to the previous owners, but now, perhaps it was time to remedy that lack, and she planned to add new books of that sort each Solstice. She'd warn him not to let any outsiders get hold of them, but she knew he'd be careful of that. All the other new books would go in that special small bookcase just inside the door of the library, and would remain there for some time before being shelved with the rest to give everyone an opportunity to browse and enjoy them. 

As for herself, well, that book of patterns for rather interesting nightwear and undergarments had been too tempting to resist. While she never actually slept in nightgowns, prefering to sleep unencumbered, still she did enjoy them for that time after retiring but before sleeping. As for the undergarments, the corset pictured seemed to rather enhance the attributes of whoever would be so bold as to wear it, (not that her 'attributes' needed any enhancing), and some of the underthings were fashioned in ways she'd not seen before, seeming to reveal more than they concealed.

True, some of the patterns were rather modest, but she thought substituting different materials might make a world of difference. There was that stash of tissue silk she'd found in one of the old trunks, one a sheer midnight blue with silver thread, another in translucent bronze and ruby shot with gold with the slight slub to the texture; that might do nicely as a start if she found the right pattern. There was that wide bolt of emerald lace overlay to consider as well; just because it was called overlay didn't necessarily mean you HAD to underlay it with something more solid, now did it?

And then there was that thick book on the designing and sewing of Period and Historical costumes, with a bit of a different, rather adventuresome twist. It had been advertised in a tiny clip in a London newspaper as being intended for the 'specialty house' trade, by which she assumed they meant a high-class brothel (and she was amused at the thought of the sales literature she'd likely to be receiving after ordering THAT, since the slip of paper inside the package offered a 'special price on French Envelopes when ordered by the ten gross!'; well, if she ever found herself in need of 1440 condoms, she'd be sure to remember that!), but she could see the allure here as well when she took a hurried glance through it. The advertisement had specifically mentioned a Victorian Maid's attire and a Pirate Wench, as well as the garb for an Arabian Dancing Girl. Perhaps the others would be just as intriguing. She wasn't quite sure what being a 'Leather Mistress' might entail, but it would be worth looking at, surely, though the list of accessories made her eyebrows reach toward the sky!

Those and various others might be rather interesting, in one way or another. She knew her two lads truly enjoyed that prim and proper secretarial outfit she wore when she did her correspondence reports once a month at the tea table! Amazing just how inspiring they seemed to find it! And when she'd added that white cotton and lace and ribbon undergarment, well, the other ladies now knew not to expect to see the three of them for the rest of the day, or at the dinner table either, though the two were kind enough to leave filled plates in the oven for whenever they were finally ready for them! She rather thought of those two books as a gift to herself, along with Peter and Andrew. She rather thought they would view them in that way, as well. 

And year by year, rituals and celebrations were added, and the trappings were altered as best fitted those living at Haven, so by the time the children started arriving, as they most certainly did, there were special days each month of the year, and many months more than one. Some went by the wayside, though not any of those called for by Clan tradition, for Haven WAS Clan, but those none seemed to have a particular yearning after did become a thing of the past, as well as some given up for the good of the livestock, ie anything involving explosions or fireworks on a grand scale. That was particularly true as the birthdays alone eventually filled a goodly number of spaces on the calender. Some of the Outlander holidays were recognized simply by joining the locals at the tiny kirk. But Christmas continuted to be celebrated within Haven by the Outlanders who had become Family, though still kept to the upstairs private rooms; and the Clan still gave its baskets of red and green, along with the traditional greeting, though now "Merry Christmas!", as burbled by their Andrew, accompanied that greeting.


End file.
